


After Life

by Barbeauxbot



Category: Marvel, Marvel (Comics), Marvel 616, Thor (Comics)
Genre: F/M, Female Friendship, Gen, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-09
Updated: 2013-12-23
Packaged: 2018-01-04 04:42:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 15,990
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1076668
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Barbeauxbot/pseuds/Barbeauxbot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A story attempting to integrate Sigyn into the wider 616 universe. Featuring lots about the importance of lady friendships. And Loki. Because he refuses to go away. Starts not long after Siege and ends sometime in between Young Avengers Vol. 2 and Loki: Agent of Asgard</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Just a Glimpse of You

"Come in, dear," Wanda smiles warmly and opens her door further to admit Sigyn.

"Thank you for speaking with me, friend Wanda." Sigyn steps inside and takes a moment to glance around Wanda's chambers. The windows are open to allow the soft, late spring breeze. Lacy curtains flutter, brushing against the backs of the plush, red furniture. Soft evening sounds of the city below echo up through the open windows.

"Would you like some tea?" Wanda gestures toward the chaise.

Sigyn takes a seat, arranging her skirts demurely and sitting up straight, like a proper handmaiden. Old habits die hard. And next to her sits a specter, a woman she knows Wanda cannot see. The shade of Sigyn's self who died in Ragnarok. Who sees much and says little. "Tea would be most pleasing."

Wanda serves and sits on a wing chair, and they sit awhile in companionable silence. It is one of the things Sigyn most values about her mortal friend. She appreciates how time means something different to the Aesir, and does not rush from moment to moment as if each may be her last, the way other mortals do. "You mentioned that you had something you wished to speak with me about," Wanda prods gently after some time.

Sigyn nods. "Forgive me in advance, as I am aware that this topic may be painful. However," she takes a breath and sets her tea down. "I have nowhere else to turn."

Wanda's lips turn downward and her brow wrinkles in concern. "Please, continue."

Sigyn resist the urge to twist her hands. "I understand that divorce is much more common in this realm than mine."

Wanda sets her own teacup down and glances away for a moment, her face etched in pain. "It is."

"It is much less common in Asgard." Sigyn looks at her hands, tears blurring her vision. "If a couple committed to each other feel find themselves in times of strife, they simply live apart for years or decades or centuries until they are able to reconcile and come back together."

Wanda nods and then looks back at Sigyn, frowning in confusion. "But, I don't understand. Loki died. Why are you talking about divorce?"

Sigyn chews her lip a moment. "We are creatures for whom time is a cycle, not a straight line. He has already been reincarnated."

"And that means you're still married, even though he's a child?" Wanda's eyebrows raise.

Sigyn shrugs. "More or less. Except for the fact that he doesn't remember me." She closes her eyes and consciously does not think of that moment in the palace, when the child looked at her with eyes that did not notice her, did not see her, and scampered past as if she were no more than dust motes in the sunlight. A stranger. Grief is bitter on her tongue, and she takes a sip of tea.

"What does that mean?"

Sigyn straightens her shoulders and schools her expression into impassivity. "In an Aesir wedding, we do not vow that we are one until parted by death, because of our reincarnation cycles. We vow until the end of love."

"What a lovely sentiment." Wanda murmurs. Then her eyes widen as comprehension dawns. "And since he doesn't remember you..."

Sigyn waits a moment until she can trust herself to speak. "I am a divorcee."

Wanda stands and comes over to her, wrapping her arms around her in a warm embrace. "What do you want to know?"

Sigyn's lip trembles and a tear rolls down her cheek. "When love is gone, where does it go?"

Wanda sighs and holds her tighter. "I don't know. I'm not entirely certain it is ever really gone."

 


	2. After All This Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sif gives Sigyn some straight talk

Sigyn doesn't want Loki's number when Sif gives it to her. "You will." Sif declares with her perfect unflappable certainty that always makes Sigyn want to rip off her stupid winged head piece and smack her with it.

She doesn't, of course. She's irritated. Not _suicidal_. "I very much doubt that." Sigyn says, her own voice sounding much calmer than she feels.

"He is your husband."

"He is a child." Sigyn looks away from Sif before she can see that look of pity that people always get when they're looking at her, sooner or later. She doesn't want pity. She wants _Loki_. But it isn't going to happen.

Sif takes Sigyn's phone and frowns at it. Midgardian technology always stymies her. "You will wish to speak to him, and he to you."

The presence appears at her side. "He will not remember you," the specter says, calm as she always is. Observing the proceedings around her with neither pity nor reproach. Just resignation.

Sigyn flicks an irritated glance at the specter. "I suppose you know him better than I."

Sif lowers the phone and gives her a sympathetic look. "That is not true. You are his wife."

"Not by choice," the specter says. Sigyn wonders if everybody is haunted by their past selves the way she is.

Sigyn sighs and shoves her coffee away, as the taste has become bitter and it no longer pleases her. The less she thinks about him, the better. She turns away from the specter, who's features are now marred with a smile that is downright smug, and focuses on the mortals as they walk purposefully to whatever it is that mortals do all day. Sif enters the number herself. Sigyn doesn't want it, but she doesn't stop her.

 

 


	3. Where Does It Go

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The politics of a contact list

Every time she scrolls down her contact list to message anybody from the lower end of the alphabet, his name blazes at her. Wedged between Karnilla and Lorelei, the irony of which is not lost on her, it's as if her thumb is pricked each time the familiar letters appear on screen.

It takes her about a day to change it to "HIM". Which lands him squarely between Heimdall and Hoder. This amuses her, so there he remains.


	4. Bad Advice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sigyn has a second chance.

The Allmothers keep her busy and she finds she is quite satisfied with a solitary life. The orderliness of her home is comforting. Everything remains exactly where she left it, and there are no distractions that hinder her progress on her tasks. In the evenings she takes to her bed alone, and she awakens the same way, and even this is something she learns to appreciate. In the absence of wondering whether or not her late husband might appear and catch her unaware, Sigyn finds it much easier to order her days and her nights and her weeks and her months in a way that suits her very well indeed.

There are times when Sigyn's will weakens, and she looks at his number in her phone and wonders if Sif is right, if he will wish to speak to her. On those occasions she is joined by the specter, who observes her calmly until Sigyn puts her phone away, a thousand half-composed messages unsent, the bitter taste of regret thick on her tongue.

When Theoric comes to call, she is surprised. But not displeased. His company is pleasant, and she appreciates his tact in waiting until her circumstances with Loki changed so dramatically before approaching her, instead of choosing to do so immediately after Ragnarok. They fall into an easy sort of companionship for some time before he asks the question he must have been wanting to ask long before he came to her.

"My lady," he flushes a little and breaks eye contact, looking at the glass of wine he had poured for her instead of her face. "I was hoping that perhaps you might be willing to consider a renewal of the... if you recall, we had planned to... but then your husband, he..."

She sighs a little and steps forward, kissing him gently to stop the fumbling before she became even more acutely embarrassed on his behalf. "I would very much like to be your wife, Theoric." She smiles softly and touches his face. His skin is warm and his whiskers rough against her fingertips. "I always wanted that."

He smiles, and kisses her. Chastely. His lips dry. His hands grasping her upper arms.

She almost invites him to bed, but can't find the will to say the words. They say their goodbyes and he leaves, satisfied.

 _He is a good man_ , she reminds herself. And the specter smiles approvingly.

 


	5. And You Say

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The inevitable complication.

It is some months after that when Sigyn receives an unexpected message.

_[HIM: Recent events have brought to mind the fact that we haven't spoken in some time.]_

_[HIM: Are you well?]_

She reads the messages several times and composes a few dozen responses but doesn't send any of them.

It is three months before she receives another message.

_[HIM: Back in the city. Briefly. Very briefly. Unsure when I will return. On a "Short for gods, long for mortals" timeframe atm. I've heard you are serving the All Mothers now. Very prestigious!]_

_[HIM: Would drop in to visit but that might cause the end of the world and am currently attempting to prevent that.]_

_[HIM: What was that fruit you used to make into jam? Was it elderberry? I seem to recall elderberry.]_

Her fingers shake as she types her response.

_[You preferred the boysenberry.]_

_[HIM: Of course! You have my thanks.]_

_[Blackcurrant would also suffice if there was no boysenberry available.]_

There is no response.

It takes her nearly a month to stop hoping for one.

 


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Loki suspects he might not survive the night. Sigyn picks a fight. Loki rises to the bait. Because that’s exactly the sort of mature, reasonable reaction to their current situation we’ve all come to expect from this pair.

Sigyn sits at the dining room table because the question of exactly who owns the airspace over Oklahoma has turned into a very stubborn knot of paper trails going back much further than she had anticipated. She spreads her work out, attempting to organize it in some useful order. Her laptop ends up on the floor and her notebook on a chair. She crouches to use them, in between organizing piles of paper.

There is no room for her phone and she isn't paying attention to it anyway. Janet van Dyne has taught her the motto "If it's important, they'll leave a message" and she is testing this theory. So far it appears that the Wasp had not, in fact, led her astray in this matter. A glorious boon to productivity.

"My love," Theoric approaches her, the phone still ringing in his hand. "You are receiving a call from... HIM?"

"Oh!" Sigyn stands and takes the phone from him. "Human Integration Management! I was hoping to hear from them." She smiles an apology. "I must take this, will you excuse me?"

She darts out onto the balcony and shuts the sliding glass door firmly behind her before answering. "Do you have more vitally important fruit preserves related questions, your highness?"

There is a long pause. And then a soft laugh so familiar, her heart leaps into her throat. "No, my lady. Though your assistance in that matter was most fortuitous."

His voice has changed. Something is different, though it is hard for her to determine exactly what over the phone. One thing is for certain: he is a child no longer. The specter glares at her. "Perhaps we've moved on to the soft cheeses. You have a fondness for neufchatel."

"That isn't why I called you." He speaks softly, as if he is attempting to not be overheard. There are others speaking in the background, young people. Their voices unfamiliar to her. A hollow feeling settles in her chest.

"How long did you plan to draw out the suspense? I have work to do." She hugs herself and shivers in the brisk wind.

"Do I need a reason to want to speak to you?" His voice is low, liquid velvet.

A shiver steals down her spine that has nothing to do with the cold and she clenches her teeth in fury. "Is this some kind of game, your highness? Because it strikes me as a particularly cruel one, even for you."

"It's always a game, good Sigyn." He chuckles and it is all she can do to not throw the phone into the condo across the street.

"I wish you well in your journeys, your highness," she hisses.

"No, Sigyn, wait don't hang up." And there is just the faintest hint of desperation in his voice, so she doesn't. "Hold on." She can hear some kind of door closing and the sounds of the other voices become more muffled. "It's just that..." he sighs. "I can't really tell you what I'm doing right now--"

"That is unsurprising," she states flatly, the words turning bitter in her mouth. "Though I suspect 'can't' and 'do not wish to' are one and the same."

His laugh is rueful this time. "No, I'd rather that I could. I think you'd be impressed! Anyway. It's one of those 'we may not last the night' situations and I just wanted to... say goodbye. Properly.  From what I understand, that didn't exactly happen the last time."

She rubs her forehead and then bites her lip and stares up, blinking hard. She refuses to weep over him. Not anymore. "Goodbye."

There is a long pause. "That's it?"

Her heart is screaming, and she is crushed under the weight of everything she wants to say. "Yes, that is it."

"So be it." He clips his words, and she knows she scored a hit. It gives her a sick sense of glee. The specter smiles at her. "Well. I simply wanted to tell you that you are the love of my eternal life and the only person in the Nine Realms I have ever truly loved."

She clenches her teeth, shaking with rage. "Oh, _spare me_ your insincere declarations, your highness. You do not know me. You have made no effort to resume any sort of relationship, and then you call the night before some sort of secret suicide mission for what? The satisfaction of listening to somebody weep over you? I suggest you look elsewhere, I am quite through feeding your ravenous appetite for validation."

"I have _never_ been insincere with you, Sigyn." Under the self-righteousness and anger she can hear the thrum of pain in his voice. She knows at this point he is pacing. Her glee grows, as does the specter's smile, and she starts to feel sick to her stomach. "I have protected you in ways that you do not _appreciate_ , you ungrateful, _demanding_ \--"

"Chico," a woman interrupts him. "It's time to go. Who are you talking to?"

"No one of consequence," Loki says, as casually cheerful as he was when Sigyn first answered the phone.

She hangs up.


	7. What Happens Next

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Old dramatics were for naught. Lead up to future dramatics.

Wanda and Janet are fitting Sigyn for her wedding gown when Loki contacts her again.

"Somebody's calling." Wanda hands her the phone. "I believe it is your fiance."

Sigyn smiles as she accepts it and looks at the screen. She is so surprised she can't stop herself from going pale and light-headed. "Oh, HIM refers to an organization, not a person." She says casually, and can tell from the glance the other two exchange that neither believe it.

Oh well.

_[HIM: I survived, in case you were curious.]_

_[I know. Freyja mentioned seeing you recently.]_

_[HIM: Yes. It appears I have also risen in prestige as of late. Higher than you, even.]_

_[That is unsurprising. She was always fond of you.]_

_[HIM: Yes, she has proven to be remarkably consistent in her affections. It is quite unusual]_

_[If you are attempting to shame me for being fickle, I will only ask that you give me a moment until I am done being fitted for this gown.]_

_[I do not wish to be stuck with pins while laughing myself sick.]_

Jan is satisfied with the fitting, and it isn't until she changes back into her normal attire that Sigyn realizes there is another message waiting for her.

_[HIM: Send me a picture.]_

_[I am afraid I do not understand, your highness. A picture of what, exactly?]_

_[HIM: Yourself, in the gown. Preferably at an angle where your backside is visible. I want to be sure the fit is doing you justice.]_

_[Again I must apologize, I am no longer wearing it.]_

_[HIM: Even better]_

_[I have work to do. I'm not sending you a picture of myself.]_

_[HIM: Why not? We can trade. I think you will be pleased.]_

_[This is juvenile.]_

_[HIM: I wish to see you.]_

_[Then see me. I will not send pictures.]_

_[HIM: It would be my pleasure. Where shall we meet? There is a lovely public garden just outside of my apartment. I believe the mortals call it "Central Park"]_

_[HIM: A terribly pedestrian title, to be sure. But what can one expect of mortals, really?]_

She smiles to herself and nearly sends a response when she sees a second pair of eyes reflected on the phone's screen. She frowns before she looks up. "What do you want?" She demands of the spectral woman before her.

The specter is calm, as always. "We have discussed this before, Sigyn."

She grips her phone a little tighter. "Am I not permitted to meet with what's left of my former husband?"

"You are permitted to do whatever you choose. But you cannot choose the consequences."

Sigyn grits her teeth, swallowing the bitter taste on her tongue, and looks back at her phone, her eyes blurry with tears that she refuses to let fall. "You speak in meaningless platitudes."

"You know what I mean," she says. And is gone before Sigyn can articulate a retort.

 


	8. Could You See Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sigyn seeks closure. Loki has other ideas.

The specter is displeased with her, and follows her the entire way to the public garden. "This is a mistake. You have promised yourself to another."

Sigyn wraps her scarf around her neck a little tighter and flicks a glare at the specter. "Even when I was wed, I was still permitted to have _friends_. Surely you remember that."

"He is not your friend." The specter glares back at her. "He never was."

Sigyn fumes silently. And sucks on a Lifesaver, in hopes that the candy will be enough to cleanse away the sharp tang of fear in her mouth. The specter remains by her side when she reaches the fountain where he suggested they meet. It's a charming thing, a bronze sculpture of three maidens dancing around a small fountain. Not nearly so ostentatious as Sigyn expected.

She senses his presence before she sees him, and her knees go weak. "Does it please you?" He asks quietly, touching her arm as he stands beside her. "I hoped it would."

"It is a very pretty fountain," she says, forcing her voice to stay calm and keeping her hands folded in front of her. "You chose well."

He is quiet for a time. The specter stares her down, disapproval rolling off of her in waves.

"I am glad to have pleased you, my lady." He says quietly. "Will you walk with me?" He cannot hide the note of apprehension in his voice. As if he really thinks she might refuse.

She shrugs and nods, turning away from the fountain and looking at him.

He is greatly changed, no longer the child she happened upon in the palace. Nor even the full grown man, twisted with avarice and thrumming with power, who had abandoned her in his quest for annihilation. Nor even the younger man, driven by lust and jealousy, who fought so hard for her hand in marriage. He is younger still, the youth she never knew. His back is straight, he carries himself proudly, with a swagger that he had lost when she knew him. His face is smooth, his hair falling in full, dark waves over his brow. His eyes are clear and green as glass. The same eyes that used to burn when he looked at her. He smiles at her, at once hopeful and guarded. Without thinking, she reaches to touch his face, her fingers brushing over his cheek. "I told you, you would be pleased." His smile turns more smug and his eyes wander over her, a hint of hunger creeping into his gaze.

"I must admit, seeing you as a child was disconcerting." She lets her hand fall. They walk slowly together, along the grass so as to avoid the mortals running and biking and skating as if they might outpace their own mortality if they just move fast enough. She folds her hands in front of her. Controlled. Demure. Remote. Every nerve is vibrating with desire, but she refuses to let him see it. If she shows the slightest weakness, he will go straight for the kill. Regardless of whether or he remembers her or their life together, she knows some aspects of his nature will always remain unchanged.

"Are you well?" She asks, and glances at him sidelong. He certainly looks well.

He gives her a crooked, youthful grin and her heart skips a beat. "Very. And yourself? Because you look _ravishing_ , if I may be so bold."

She pauses a moment before answering. _Ravishing_. The way he drawls the word brings to mind how fervently he came to her bed, how she had been left breathless and aching the last time she had lain with him. She thinks of the attentions she has enjoyed at the hands of her fiance and her pulse calms. "I am. My work continues to be diverting. New York is... pleasant enough."

He smiles like the spring and she cannot help but smile as well, though she looks down, feeling bashful. "Oh, good Sigyn. How _politely_ you damn them with faint praise."

She feels her cheeks grow hot. "The mortals are very proud of their city. It is most charming."

He laughs and stops, turning toward her and tucking a lock of her hair behind her ear. She shivers and glances away, afraid of what she might do if she sees the tenderness in his gaze. She sees the specter watching them from a copse of trees. A cold, hard feeling settles in Sigyn's belly.

"Tell me more about your impressions of the city," he says. His voice is soft, with just the hint of a laugh carried on it.

""They..." She takes a breath and tries to shake the cold feeling. "Do their best with the architecture."

He laughs again and cups her face in his hands. "Oh, my love," he says low. "How I missed your wicked little tongue." He tips her face up to him and bends to kiss her. His lips are gentle. Yearning.

She can't stop the whimper of longing that rises in her throat. She steps closer, breathing him in. He smells of ice and magic. He deepens the kiss, answering her whimper with his own low hum of desire. She slides her hands around his slim waist, hugging him to her. Like she used to do when she was his wife. Emboldened, he slips his tongue past her lips, flicking over the candy before retreating. He breaks the kiss, breathing a little harder.

"Pineapple?" His lips quirk and he looks at her with heavy-lidded eyes.

She tries to look away but doesn't quite manage it. "I am unsure. Whichever one is the clear color."

"Pineapple." He strokes her cheekbones with his thumbs. "I had plans."

"You always have plans," she says. The cold feeling returns. Plans within plans. Plans that do not include her.

"Yes. Of the dinner and dancing variety. Someplace intimate. I had plans to seduce you." He winds a lock of her hair around his finger.

It is her turn to laugh. " _Seduce_ me?"

He presses his forehead to hers. "Yes. Thoroughly. Then I planned to take you back to my apartment and... make up for lost time. I assure you, these plans were very detailed. Meticulously so. I have had quite some time to perfect them."

She can feel the specter glaring at her. Boring holes through her skin. "I have not danced in some time."

He kisses her again and she can feel his skin warming against her. "How disappointed would you be, exactly, if we skipped the dancing part and went straight to seduction?"

Her need for him pulses hot. "We can go dancing later." She shoves aside thoughts about she cannot go dancing with him ever again. How this has already been more foolishness than she can afford. How she cannot be seen in public with him.

He grins against her lips as if he has won. "You have such a filthy mouth, my love."

The bitter taste creeps around the candy, but she focuses on the sweetness to keep it at bay.

By Emma Vieceli aka [inkytasty](http://inkytasty.tumblr.com/)  


 

 


	9. Just Work It Out

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is NSFW

Loki pulls Sigyn into his apartment. She is barely able to take a glance around before he pushes her against the wall and kisses her, hard.

She moans into his kiss, trembling as somehow they shed their clothes and wind their way to the bedroom. Mouths and skin and eyes hungry for each other.

He drags her to the bedroom and she pulls off his headpiece as he tosses her onto the bed. “Always the horns,” she giggles.

“They please me.” He murmurs, his lips on her throat as his hands slide down her body. “Just as you do.”

She arches up to him, trembling, as she drags her nails down his back. “You please me,” she gasps, tears threatening.

“I want to,” he moans, his mouth on her breast.

She catches a glimpse of the specter watching, furious. She closes her eyes tightly and tangles her fingers in his hair. “I missed you.” Her voice catches in her throat.

“I am here. You have me.” He presses his lips between her legs.

She cries out, writhing beneath him as his mouth and his hands and his magic bring her crashing over the brink. His touch is familiar, his movements the same. But there is something different. A hesitation, a fumbling that surprises her. She gentles her grip in his hair and urges him to slide back up to her. She kisses him, her lips soft. He cups her cheek with trembling fingers. “I am here. I am with you,” she whispers, her lips brushing his.

He makes a strangled sound in his throat and clutches her tightly. She shifts, and he lies back, looking up at her with wide, imploring eyes. “I thought I had lost you.”

“You did.” She straddles him, never looking away from his eyes as she guides him into her. “You found me again.”

He pulls her to him and kisses her deeply as she moves. As they move together. As sweat and sighs and tears mingle. Again, she is struck by how different he is. He is smaller, and leaner, and softer. The anger that had hardened his back and his hands and his face are gone. She sees, more clearly than ever, the vulnerability he had always been so sure to conceal.

He cries out and clutches her even tighter, spending himself far sooner than she expects. Flushed with shame, he turns away from her, curling in on himself.

She strokes his hair and nestles close, resting her cheek against his back.

“You should go,” he says flatly, his back tense.

She should. She knows it even more than he does. And if she were to turn her head, she would see the specter glaring at her. She closes her eyes and rubs her cheek against his spine, trying to soothe some of the tension there. “I do not wish to.”

He turns to face her, confused and irritated and cautious. “Why?”

She traces her fingertip along the bridge of his nose. “I missed you.” She hesitates and focuses on his shoulder.

She remembers the last time he laid with her, and how he left her. Breathless and aching. He had glanced back at her, once, a silhouette in the doorway. And then without a word, he had closed the door behind him.

The next time she saw him was when Thor delivered what they were able to recover of his remains. A phial that fit in the palm of her hand. She closes her eyes. The end will come. It is inevitable. It will be easier, this time. This time he is alive. She will find that knowledge comforting. But for now all she wants, for just a little while longer, is the comfort found in the smell of his skin, the sound of his heartbeat, the taste of his lips. “Please, do not make me leave. Not yet.”

He folds her in his arms and kisses her. And does not stop. 


	10. Dead Light of the Afterglow

Sigyn stares at the ceiling as the sweat dries on her skin. Loki draws his fingers through her hair, his long limbs tangled with hers. She resists the urge to tuck herself against him, where she fits so neatly. This was a mistake. Once is understandable. Perhaps. If she is lucky. Twice is unforgivable. "I should go."

He nuzzles her and laughs against her skin. "Why? Is somebody waiting for you? Tell them something came up."

She extracts herself from his grasp. The specter sits at the window. Watching. Sorrowful. Sigyn avoids her eye, already feeling sick to her stomach with guilt.

Loki goes still, watching her as she gets dressed, his expression growing more guarded. "Stay for dinner. I'll order in."

"I cannot." She forces herself to check her appearance in the mirror, but can't bring herself to meet her own eyes. She covers the bruises on her throat with a glamour.

"Why?" He sits up, his eyes locked on her.

"Because I cannot." Her jaw tightens, her temper rising.

"Are you seeing somebody else?" His eyes harden, his hands tensing on his knees.

She braces herself for what is to come. "That is none of your concern."

He slides out of the bed, moving with precise grace as his anger flares. Just as he always does. "You are my _wife_."

"I _was_ your wife." She lifts her chin in defiance. She's knows how his rages go by now. He can't scare her.

His eyes go flat. "You are. At least as far as I am concerned."

"You remember me?" She takes a step closer, her heart hardening. "So you lied. Again. To everybody. To _me_."

He turns away from her, his shoulders tight. "Yes. Does that please you? Congratulations, good Sigyn. You figured it out, you're a blasted genius. The whole thing was a ruse so as not to render my death _entirely pointless_."

"Why did you not tell me?" She demands as she takes another step closer.

His laugh is bitter. Ugly. Familiar. "You would have me come to you as a child so you could play nursemaid? Forgive me if I confess that is one depravity that holds little appeal."

She grabs his arm and yanks, turning him to face her. "Why did you not tell me about any of it?" Her voice raises. She can't stop herself. The hurt and loneliness and despair boiling over, choking her.

"To protect you!" He flings his arm out of her grasp.

She glares at him. "I do not need your protection!"

"Like Hel you don't," he growls, eyes hard as agate. "Do you have any idea what the Allfather would have done to you if you had been my accomplice?"

She tries to slap him but he grabs her wrist, his grip hard enough to bruise. "You needed me to play the grieving widow to perfection so that they would believe it." She hisses, shaking with rage. "And you did not trust me to do it right if I was actually in on it."

"And you played the part beautifully, my love." He sneers. "How long, precisely, did you wait before accepting suitors, hm? Had the smoke cleared yet or was that taking too long?"

"You bastard." She chokes on angry tears. "You used me. You humiliated me. You abandoned me and made me a widow and for what? A prettier face and a nice apartment?!"

"I sacrificed my power, my pride, my dignity to restore both of our reputations, you ungrateful upstart." He looms over her, even in his younger body.

"I should be grateful?" She spits. "You first."

"I _died_ for you!" He grasps her shoulders.

"You died for _yourself_." She squirms against his grasp. "You thought I would linger, waiting forever for you to deign to explain what you were doing while you pursued your own ends? I moved on, Loki. I grieved for you and continued living my life."

"I thought you would honor your vows, wife." He tightens his grip.

"I did! I honored my vows. You did not. Ever. You took me for granted!" She shoves him away as hard as she can. He reels back as if she had struck him. "I am nobody's wife. I am one man's widow and..." she takes a breath. "Betrothed to another."

He whirls on her. "What? Who?!"

"Does it matter?" She yanks on her coat and fluffs out her hair.

"Hoder?"

She rolls her eyes and turns to the door. "No."

"Hogun?" He follows her.

"You are embarrassing yourself."

"Fandral?" His legs are longer, and in two strides he reaches the door, blocking her path.

"Now you are insulting me." She glares up at him.

He glares back, perfectly still.

"Will you let me by?" She crosses her arms.

The specter hovers at Sigyn's elbow. "He is dangerous, like a cornered animal."

"This is beneath you," Sigyn says.

"Give me a name."

"You will not like it."

He laughs. This time it is shrill, bordering on hysteria. "Thor?"

It cuts to the quick. "You think so little of me."

"He always thought little of you," the specter says, cutting Sigyn even more. "You would do well to wed Thor. At least he recognizes your worth." The specter steps toward Loki, looking him over. He never takes his eyes off of Sigyn.

Sigyn wonders how she isn't bleeding on the floor. "Thor and I would never be happy together. And neither of us would do that to you."

Loki leans his head back against the door, his anger giving way to despair. "His name."

"It does not matter. He is not you." Her lips twist when she realizes that was the only real criteria.

"Whoever he is," Loki speaks low, his voice carrying deep menace. "He is not me. And we both know that you will be unfaithful to him. You will come back to me. Just like this. Again and again, no matter how hard you try to stop yourself. And each time you will die a little bit more. Inch by inch you will lose pieces of yourself until there's nothing left. Because we _belong_ together, Sigyn. You know it. You love me as deeply as I love you. And your legendary loyalty will not allow you to truly commit to another so long as I still live."

"If he truly loved you, he would not let you hurt yourself like that." The specter turns her back on him and returns to Sigyn's side.

Her eyes sting with unshed tears. "You underestimate me."

He grips the doorframe a moment, his knuckles turning white. His lips work silently. In the pit of her stomach is a feeling of elation as she watches him hurt as badly as she has hurt. It shames her. She looks down and lifts her chin, folding her hands in front of her, as she was trained to do when she was still a royal handmaiden. Controlled. Demure. Remote. She feels nothing. Not even pity.

He moves away from the door. "This isn't over," he says, though the quaver in his voice betrays him.

"Yes, your highness. It is," she says softly, and steps through the door without a backward glance.

 


	11. I've Gotta Know

Sif pins her with a level look. Valkyrie does the same. They then exchange glances as if to confirm that the other is wondering if this is Sigyn's idea of a joke.

"Bridesmaid?" Sif arches an eyebrow.

"Neither of us are maids." Valkyrie declares as she stirs several more tablespoons of sugar into her coffee.

"Yes, I am aware." Sigyn fiddles with her spoon, shrinking a bit under their scrutiny. "Neither am _I_ \--"

Sif snorts a laugh. "Should hope not. You are the only one here who has been married."

Valkyrie also laughs. "Letting your union go unconsummated would easily be your late husband's most incomprehensible act."

"We... did consummate it. Not that I was a maid at the time, anyway." She tosses her spoon down. "This is getting off topic--"

"Why are you even having such a production of a wedding, anyway." Sif munches a croissant. "I thought widows did not have to bother with this nonsense."

"Especially considering what a fiasco your last wedding turned out to be." Valkyrie finishes her coffee and eyes up Sigyn's.

Sigyn sighs and shoves her cup over, her appetite lost anyway. "Theoric wanted it. Because he... missed the last one." She leaves off the rest of that sentence.

Again, Sif and Valkyrie exchange glances. "I suppose that makes sense," Sif says dryly.

Valkyrie's expression softens. "Have you told Loki yet?"

Sigyn shakes her head emphatically. "No. I will not. And I would thank you not to tell him, either."

"You cannot be serious." Sif's lips tighten into a thin line.

"How can you possibly expect to conceal the fact that you are remarrying?" Valkyrie rubs her forehead.

Sigyn twists her napkin in her hands. "He knows I am remarrying. Just not... to whom."

"Bor's beard, Sigga." Valkyrie throws up her hands.

"Odin's empty eye socket." Sif groans. "Let me guess: you told him."

Sigyn nods, flushing and looking down.

"Before or after you rutted him?" Valkyrie asks.

"It's not... It is simply..." Sigyn sputters, the bitter taste of regret creeping into her mouth. "I did not intend to. We were simply going to walk in the park but then..." She takes a breath and continues before either can interrupt her. "One thing led to another, and then after he kept talking as if we were going to get back together and I cannot go through that again." She stops, trembling a little, surprised as tears sting her eyes. "He did not tell me, any of it. When he died..." She stops again, her voice hitching. She struggles to regain her composure. Both Sif and Valkyrie wait for her to speak, old pain reflected in their gazes. "I saw him when Thor brought him back from Paris. He did not know who I was." The tears fall freely. There is so much more, of course. Old hurts and wounds that never quite healed. Sif and Valkyrie know, as much as anybody else can. "I gave him everything I had. So when Theoric came to court me, I accepted."

Valkyrie takes her hand and Sif glances away, discomfited by Sigyn's unusual emotional outburst. "If this is what you truly what, Sigga," Valkyrie says softly. "If you love Theoric, and--"

"I do not love him," Sigyn blurts, unable to let the lie go.

Sif's mouth tightens and her eyes narrow. "So you are using him."

"No more than I have been used." Sigyn's bitterness overflows again. She chokes on it. "I am perfectly aware that my noble betrothed is motivated to strike a blow against his murderer as much as he is spurred by any particular affection for me." Sigyn untwists her napkin and places it flat on the table. She does not know if any of what she is saying is true. Theoric has never discussed what happened the last cycle. They barely acknowledge Loki's existence at all. For all she knows, Theoric has forgiven Loki.

All fall silent for a time. "Your heart has hardened so, Sigga." Valkyrie sighs, looking tired.

"They want you to be weak." The specter rests her hand on Sigyn's shoulder in a protective gesture. "They think you a foolish child. Once you stand up to him, they will all see how strong you truly are. And none will use you as a pawn ever again."

Sigyn lifts her chin. "It is what I wish. And I misspoke earlier. I do not want you to serve as bridesmaids. I want you to serve as guards and ensure that the prince does not interfere with my wedding."

Val nods, her expression guarded. "If that is what you wish."

"I do." Sigyn declares with false conviction. "I would not have a repeat of my last wedding."

Sif rolls her eyes. "At least we will not have to wear matching gowns."


	12. Like Looking Through a Window

Sigyn has bowed to every single one of Theoric's desires with the wedding, save one. She insisted on having the ceremony in New York instead of Asgard, so that Thor may attend. Every other decision she left to Theoric.

As a result, the ceremony is so ostentatious it borders on the obscene. Every square inch of the hall that is not gilded with gold leaf is draped in pink and red silks. Illumination is provided by an a cloud of glowing butterflies, a clever and complicated illusion. There is a choir of children who have already been singing for hours, and will continue throughout the ceremony.

Theoric's rose gold armor gleams so brightly it is difficult to look at him for long. For her part, Sigyn is wearing a replica of the gown she wore for her first wedding, a rose gold breastplate and layers of frothy pink silk skirts along with a matching cape. Theoric insisted on this attire, as he had been murdered before he got a chance to see her wearing it. Sigyn tries not to think about what had happened to the original gown on her wedding night.

Sigyn herself has few friends. And the surviving members of her family would hardly fill more than two rows. Theoric's family is smaller yet. And though he has his comrades in the Crimson Guard, most of them are serving as additional security for the affair. The hall is full to bursting with guests anyway. Every noble family in Asgard vied for an invite, as well as dignitaries from all nine realms and throughout Earth and space. Sigyn feels dizzy, her neck aching under the weight of her elaborate bejeweled headpiece. More than anything, she looks forward to a future where she can finally slip back into obscurity.

The press is there, of course. She couldn't have banned them if she tried. She  is the only current princess of the realm. Even a second wedding to a man of lower status is an event that mortals rarely get the chance to observe, much less on their own soil. Thor is more at ease under the flashing glare of the cameras, and stands close to her, shielding her as much as he can without being obvious. She takes comfort in his solid presence.

She takes one glance back at the entrance to the hall to make sure that Sif and Valkyrie are where they said they would be. They stand, motionless, swords drawn, armor gleaming, one on either side of the huge doors. Satisfied, she turns to face the Allmothers and her betrothed. Theoric smiles at her, and she searches his face for a sign that he is really Loki in disguise.

His smile is kind, his eyes dull, and the fingers that curl around hers are warm. It is no disguise. Her nerves calm. She presents Theoric with her father's sword and her family's ring and wonders how they ever managed to recover the wedding band. Loki's body had been so thoroughly destroyed they didn't even have enough to bury. Theoric hands her his father's sword and his family's ring The rose gold band hangs heavy on her hand. She can't help but notice how little it suits her, and how much she misses her gold band with the trail of emeralds that she used to have.

They exchange the customary vows about joining their houses and love eternal but Sigyn can barely hear any of it over the pounding in her ears. There are pauses when they look at her expectantly, and she answers in the expected manner. Or close enough to it that they are satisfied and do not ask her to repeat herself.

There is a sound from the back of the hall, voices and something clattering. She tries to resist temptation and looks straight ahead. And then she hears somebody call her name, she is sure of it. But when she turns to glance back, there is nothing amiss. Valkyrie and Sif haven't moved a muscle, and even the guests at the back of the hall are more interested in what's happening ahead than behind.

And then Theoric kisses her and there is applause and the ring exchange ceremony is over. Somewhere deep inside she is screaming, but when she turns to face the crowd she smiles and waves, as calm and placid as a lake. Slowly, she scans the crowd, searching for any sign of a disruption. Or even the calm before the storm that she has come to know so well.

There is nothing. Loki is not there. Is it possible that he actually heeded her wishes? The applause thunders in her ears as they proceed down the aisle to the triumphant march. As they pass, the Asgardian guests start to line up and look to Volstagg expectantly. Sigyn notices the mortal guests watching in confusion and not lining up.

She grabs her husband's arm. "Theoric, did anybody tell the mortals about the bruð-hlaup?"

He looks at her, his eyes dull and uncomprehending. "They do not bruð-hlaup?"

It is too late to explain. Before she can even answer Theoric, they have reached the threshold of the hall and Volstagg announces the start of the race with a single, blaring blast on his horn. The Asgardians run, their cheers loud enough to drown out the screams of the mortals.

SIgyn runs with the others, hiking up her skirts and bolting. Maybe Loki will make his move during the bruð-hlaup. Maybe she won't ever make it to the feast. She runs faster, her doubt and misgivings fueling her. The bitter taste of regret so thick on her tongue she nearly gags on it. Theoric keeps pace with her, even though he is capable of running much faster. She glances ahead and to her left and doesn't even bother to look behind to confirm that she is surrounded by Crimson guardsman. Suddenly she is hit with a wave of weariness, and she stumbles.

Just before she falls she is grabbed about the waist and lifted high. Into the air.  "Thor, what are you doing?" She grips his arm tightly, her stomach dropping as they rise.

"Insuring your victory!" He declares and tightens his arm around her waist. "Cease your squirming."

She shivers and closes her eyes. "Why did nobody tell the mortals of bruð-hlaup?"

"That was a significant oversight," Thor says with regret. "However, the Scarlet Witch has come to our aid!"

Sigyn looks and sees Wanda flying alongside them, changing the traffic lights as they go to clear a path for the racers. "Yes! Happy to help, darlings. Though I must ask what, exactly, is going on?"

Sigyn rubs her temples and tries not to look down or squirm. "Bruð-hlaup. Which translates to... bride race? The winner determines which side will be the servants for the evening."

Wanda laughs. "Well. Good thing you're flying, then."

Sigyn laughs weakly, her lightheadedness not just from the heights. Though that doesn't _help_. "It is largely symbolic."

Wanda frowns at the traffic patterns. "This is going to get tricky, Thor. You go on a head, I'll see you at the finish line."

"We bid you good luck, Scarlet Witch." Thor nods and veers off toward the feast hall while Wanda focuses on a particularly gnarled intersection. Sigyn closes her eyes, trying to fight the wave of nausea that threatens. Which is a mistake, closing her eyes only makes it worse.

She grips Thor's wrist tightly and takes deep breaths in through her nose and out through her mouth. "Not much longer, is it?"

"It is not. We are descending now, sister." Thor shifts his shoulders and they descend, slower than he usually does but still far too quickly for her taste.

Once they land she nearly collapses, so grateful to be on solid ground once more. But she steels her nerves and remains standing, glancing about, wondering if now is the time Loki will appear.

"You need not fear, good Sigyn," Thor attempts to reassure her, though she cannot miss the note of regret in his voice. "Loki is not here."

"I am not afraid, brother." Sigyn smiles. Because it is true. The one thing she is not feeling is fear. The ground rumbles under her feet. The others are coming. She steals a glance at Thor. "The Crimson guard was escorting me. In the race. Did you tell them to do that?"

Thor shakes his head. "I cannot command them, even if I wished to."

"Perhaps they were simply seeking to ensure my safety," she says, her heart sinking. Is this what she has to look forward to? A constant guard for the rest of her life?

"It is the most likely of explanations." Thor agrees and turns toward her and she can see in his eyes that he has his own misgivings, ones he will not give voice to out of respect for her. "You should cross the threshold should you want to win, sister."

Sigyn nods and turns to step into the hall. "I am no longer your sister, my lord." It surprises her, how her heart aches at that fact.

"You will always be my sister." Thor squeezes her shoulder and then lets go.

She steals another glance at him, this time unable to stop the small grin on her lips. "Perhaps I should throw the race, then. Make you serve Theoric's family."

Thor laughs and grabs her, then carries her over the threshold. "Hardly."

 


	13. Scream and Shout

The reception is endless, and dull, but at least there is no boar on the menu. Sigyn counts her blessings and drinks her wine and smiles when people are looking, which is nearly all the time, and does her best to not let her ambivalence show in the brief moments when she is not the center of attention.

Those rare moments evaporate entirely when Thor, not quite drunk yet but certainly on his way, sets mjolnir in her lap in blessing.

"Perhaps this time, with the real thing, it will work!" He grins and claps her on the back and the Aesir roar with laughter while the mortals just look confused (as they have for most of the feast). Sigyn smiles politely and decides she'd rather not explain to her friends that her former brother-in-law has apparently decided to bless her womb. She tries to discretely shove the hammer onto the floor. Try as she might, she cannot budge it. She sighs and drinks her wine a bit more slowly.

When the flytings start Sigyn realizes quickly that nobody bothered to mention this, either, to the mortals and quickly dispatches the waitstaff to explain to all non-Aesir that yes, the insults are all in good fun and no, nobody is about to start brawling.

Especially not without Loki there. Sigyn suppresses a sigh of longing at the thought. He always was the best at flytings, his wit so sharp it would cut out his target's tongue and leave them speechless. Sometimes Sigyn would whisper to him barbs she had been saving. She never could find the nerve to say them herself, of course. But he always would take a minute to grin at her before repeating her words verbatim. Often to very great effect. She glances at Theoric, who takes no notice of her.

"Your grandmother smelt of goats, Hogun. Perhaps that's why your mother is so fond of them." Theoric laughs mightily as if this was some sort of victory. Sigyn suppresses the urge to roll her eyes while Hogun's eyes narrow.

"A duel for the Lady Sigyn's honor!" Shouts a voice from further down the table.

All turn to face the interrupter, and Fandral grins charmingly, lounging back on his seat to accommodate the young lady currently occupying his lap.

Theoric frowns. "I beg your pardon, sir."

Sigyn glances between them, trying to figure out Fandral's game. He doesn't look at her, but keeps his gaze on Theoric. "By my count you just insulted your bride three ways, Theoric. I would duel you for her honor."

Theoric frowns more. Sigyn folds her hands in her lap and wonders if she could sink through the floor if she tries hard enough. "I did no such thing, Fandral. I was speaking to Hogun. Clean out your ears and pay attention when the adults are talking."

Fandral tuts and shakes his head. "Theoric, are you a goat herder?"

Theoric and the rest of the Crimson guard laugh. "Do not be ridiculous, Fandral the Dimwitted. You know I am no such thing."

"Was your father?" Fandral sips his wine and arches an eyebrow.

Theoric frowns deeply. "My father was also a member of the Crimson Guard."

"Ah. So. How, pray tell, are you so familiar with the fragrance of goats?" Fandral's gaze flicks over to Sigyn.

Sigyn clenches her fists in her lap and again tries to shove mjolnir to the floor. And curses it when it stubbornly stays put.

"I do not understand." Theoric replies, sullen and dull.

Fandral urges the young lady from his lap and stands, sauntering over to them as the crowd hushes. "You must have spent some time around goats, Theoric, to identify such things so expertly."

Theoric frowns even more.

"Just say something," she whispers to herself, her face burning. "Anything, do not sit there like a stuck frog."

"The only possible conclusion is that your bride is the one who introduced you to the scent of goats. Either in her home, on her person, or through her own amorous adventures. Thus you have insulted the Lady Sigyn three times, and I would duel for her honor." Fandral presents a glove with a flourish as the crowd roars with laughter and applause.

Sigyn glares at Thor, who blithely ignores her.

"I will not duel at my wedding feast." Theoric declares, still sullen.

Fandral tuts. "Pity. Perhaps the lady will defend her own honor later." He winks at Sigyn as if she were somehow in on this and is met with even more approval and encouragement from the crowd and if Sigyn could wield the stupid hammer in her lap she would have brought it crashing down on his skull right that moment.

"Fandral," Volstagg shouts from amid his gaggle of children. "Grace us with a lygisogur!"

The crowd hushes slightly. The mortals because they, again, don't know what that means. The Aesir because Loki is the undisputed master of the lying story, and Theoric had tried to ban them from the feast so as not to bring Sigyn's first husband and Theoric's own murderer to mind.

"Ah!" Fandral smiles charmingly and leans against the table, resting his hand on the back of Sigyn's chair. She resists the urge to stab his hand with a fork. "I shall make an attempt! However pale it may be in comparison, for want of those more skilled in the art." He takes a long draught of his ale while everybody glances about, growing increasingly uncomfortable. "Odin, I mean. The man could spin a tale!" Fandral laughs, and so does everybody else. More for the break in the tension than any real humor.

"Perhaps," Fandral stands straight and begins to wander about the table as he speaks, stroking his beard thoughtfully. "Perhaps I should explain to our mortal guests certain parts of our vows, hm? Because it is common for mortals to consider themselves wed until their mutual deaths. Is it not?"

Janet inclines her head slightly in agreement. The rest simply watch, apparently resigned to the fact that there is much they will not understand. Wanda shoots a worried glance at Sigyn. Sigyn keeps her expression placid, refusing to let her confusion show.

"Of course, such a thing is meaningless with ones such as we, when death of the body does not mean that one's spirit is prepared for a new form. As we all found out, at the turn of the last cycle." Fandral pauses a moment. Sigyn feels a chill at the thought of Ragnarok, and tightens her hand on her wine goblet.

"What is your point, Fandral?" Sigyn keeps her tone polite, if a bit distant and more than a little bored.

"My point is education, first, and clarification, second, my dear lady." Fandral bows with his customary élan. There is a tightness around his eyes, and his movements are more precise, less flowing.

Theoric clenches his fist around his butter knife and Sigyn lays her hand on his arm in an attempt to calm him. She is more than a little thankful when she feels his arm relax just slightly under her hand.

"So, the question I am sure that all are wondering is, if an Aesir marriage is not dissolvable by physical death, then what marks the end of a union."

"The thought does come to mind." The Wasp arches an eyebrow.

"I am so glad you asked, Ms. Van Dyne!" Fandral enthuses, even though she hadn't really asked anything. "If you had listened to the vows, you would have heard Lady Sigyn and the honorable Theoric there pledging themselves to each other until the end of love. Is that not wonderful? What a wonderful sentiment." He encourages the polite applause.

"Lovely and practical," Sigyn smiles politely. "Particularly when one can be awakened after a reincarnation."

"Precisely!" Fandral grins at her, showing his eyeteeth. "Which is why I found it so odd to discover that you considered yourself a widow."

"My first husband died. Not in Ragnarok. In battle." Sigyn narrows her eyes at Fandral, so wholly focused on him that she no longer notices the reaction of the guests or even Theoric.

"And he was reincarnated." Fandral turns toward her fully.

"As a child with no memory of who I was." She quirks her lips in a smile, but the bitterness is already thick on her tongue. "You know the ice giants. Always contrary in their ways."

There is polite laughter. She barely hears it. "He is testing you," the specter whispers. "But you are smarter. You can beat him."

Sigyn restrains herself, and does not comment on how patently obvious that observation is.

"And your late husband the most contrary of all, of course." His smile glitters harshly as he advances on her. "Tell me. When did you stop loving him?"

The bitterness floods her mouth, thick enough to choke her. She swallows it down and her throat burns. "I don't see how that is any concern of yours."

"Oh, but it is, good Sigyn." Fandral leans on the table and brushes her chin with his fingertips, tilting her face up to him. "For legal purposes."

She is so angry she chokes. "I am no bigamist. He also swore until the end of love."

"He did. And as anybody who has had the inimitable pleasure of the young prince's company since your encounter in the park can attest, he still worships the very air you breathe." Fandral's tone is pointed, even harsh, but then he sighs theatrically to soften the blow while several murmur their agreement.

Sigyn is pinned to the spot beneath the damned hammer. All the blood drains from her face. "Bastard," hisses the specter. Whether she's talking about Thor or Loki or Fandral, Sigyn is unsure. And then decides it doesn't really matter. They're all bastards.

"My former husband is adept at feigning many things, Fandral. As I am sure you are very well aware." She just barely reigns in the urge to call fire to her fingertips and set him ablaze.

"Was your marriage ever valid, Lady Sigyn," Fandral presses.

"If it was not, then your accusations of bigamy are certainly moot.” She snaps, her nerves frayed, suddenly so tired it is all she can do not to weep.

"The marriage is valid so long as love lasts. Therefore: if you never loved him, it was never valid in the first place." Fandral takes another step closer. A deadly silence settles over the crowd.

"This is foolish. Prince Loki never wanted to marry her!" Theoric protests. "She was simply a plaything to him, a pawn to be won!"

"Oh how would you know, Theoric?" Sigyn spits. "You were dead at the time!"

Theoric finally looks at her, his eyes hard with hate. "I was."

"Dead by Prince Loki's hand. And you knew!" Fandral advances, his hand out. If he were holding a rapier he would have pierced her. But he is unarmed, and must rely on words. "You were prepared to swear love to Theoric but instead you swore it to his murderer. And then you remained in wedlock to your betrothed's murderer for decades. And yet here we are, you have forsaken your first husband and married the man he slew to have your hand, and so I believe we are all owed an explanation."

"What do you want from me, Fandral?" She asks, feeling weary to her bones. "What explanation could possibly satisfy you?"

"When did you stop loving Prince Loki?" He demanded, bringing his fist down on the table.

The lie won't come. The words die before they cross her lips. She chokes and swallows, the bitterness a physical thing in her mouth. "How dare you," she rasps.

"No, Tony, I'm going to say something. This is outrageous." The Wasp rises and  stares down Fandral, her mouth tight with anger. "I know we don't know your ways, but it seems to me that you're bullying the lady over something that's none of your business."

"It is our business if we have all been witness to a crime," Fandral insists, turning to face the Wasp.

"He died. He does not know me." Sigyn chokes. She feels the dampness on her cheeks from the tears. "What would you have me do, Fandral?"

Fandral whirls back on her. "I would have you--" his eyes widen. "My lady, you are unwell."

Sigyn wipes the tears from her eyes and glances at her fingers. They are stained with thick, black fluid. "Ancestors save me," she whispers. Her ears start to ring hollowly as the cries of alarm rise from the crowd. "It is so bitter." The thick taste on her tongue spills past her lips, black ichor dripping from her mouth onto mjolnir, still in her lap. "Oh, Thor, I'm so sorry." She tries to wipe at it with her sleeve, but more spills onto the hammer. She looks to Theoric for help, but he is gone.

"We must take her to a healer." Thor tells Jan as he retrieves mjolnir from Sigyn's lap. "I fear this ailment is of a magical nature."

"My lord, I can help her," a young woman wraps her arm around Sigyn's waist and pulls her to standing. "We must go, quickly."

Sigyn tries to speak, but is choked by more ichor. She doubles over and coughs, the viscous liquid staining her skirts as it spills from her mouth. "Where is my husband?"   

"He can take care of himself. We need to take care of you." The young woman quickly leads her out the back door.

"Who... are you?" The ichor won't stop. Sigyn tries to catch it in her hands and it burns. The bitterness fills her mouth, her nose, stings her eyes.

The woman smiles at her, but it is not a kind smile. Sigyn tries to get a better look at her, but she can't seem to focus. "You're using a glamour." She wipes her mouth with the hem of her cape. "Loki?"

The woman rolls her eyes. "No. Now hold still, we're leaving."

"Wait, where are we--" Sigyn tries to pull out of her grasp, but it is too late. The woman whispers a spell and they are transported.

 


	14. Nothing To Do With Life

Sigyn's head throbs, and her mouth is sticky. Her limbs are heavy, she lies flat on something hard. Slowly, slowly she opens her eyes. Stone. More stone beneath her and above her and around her. She can hear the soft sound of water dripping somewhere, and the echoes of voices. She is in a cavern.

A very familiar cavern. She groans. "Wundagore."

A woman comes closer, out of the shadows. Beautiful. Smiling. Blonde. "Ah! You're awake!"[[MORE]]

Sigyn closes her eyes and rests her head back down on the floor. "Amora. Why in Hel are we  _here_ , of all places?"

Amora smiles even more. "That is precisely why." She pats Sigyn's head. "Nobody will ever think to look here! Why would they?"

Sigyn tries to lift one impossibly heavy hand to rub her forehead, but discovers that she is retrained. Cuffed by the wrists and ankles to the floor. To her right is a brazier, in which blazes a green flame. The light casts a sickly, flickering glow all over everything. Amora is still beautiful, of course, in an ethereal, frightening sort of way. Her eyes luminous in the dark, her hair shimmering in the firelight. Sigyn can still taste the ichor on her lips and knows that her appearance is frightful. Of course. "Whatever you want, I do not have it and I cannot give it to you."

"Oh, I know." Amora sits next to her and starts brushing her hair out, her touch surprisingly gentle. "There is nothing you could possibly offer me, even if you tried."

"I do not understand." Sigyn turns her face away and stares at the wall, her eyes stinging. Of course she doesn't understand. She never understands anything. A pawn in a game played by other people. Discarded by the only player who ever even pretended to care about her.

Something flits through her field of vision, casting a shadow much larger than it along the wall. Some kind of flying insect, like a dragonfly. Sigyn wonders how it could possibly survive, so deep under the mountain.

Amora laughs, breaking her flight of conjecture. "Of course you do not. Here, drink this." She props up Sigyn's head and helps her to drink a concoction that tastes of lemon and mint and cardamom. Sigyn gags and retches, and Amora holds a bowl for her to vomit into. "There you are, let it all out." She laughs and shakes her head. "I have never seen a person with so much resentment built up inside of them. But in retrospect, I should have expected as much."

Sigyn tugs at the bonds on her wrists, trying to cover her face with her hands. And settles for pressing her cheek on the stone. "Why are you doing this to me? I just want to be left alone. I am nothing to you, nothing to anybody."

Amora tuts and sets about cleaning the worst of the mess from Sigyn's skirts. "You would be surprised. But in the end, your absence will be more helpful than your presence ever could have been."

Sigyn's blood runs cold and she goes still. "Why not just kill me and be done with it. Why all the theatrics?"

Amora rolls her eyes. "I am not going to kill you, you silly goose. I am simply going to find you a better husband."

Sigyn narrows her eyes. "You do not have an altruistic bone in your body, Enchantress."

"Sorry, I did not hear a question in there. Or are you trying to flatter me?" Amora conjures an image of Theoric. "You know, this man was constructed via tapping into your own desires. And I thought it made sense. You nearly married him in the last cycle, of course." 

“Construct?” Sigyn’s head spins. “He is not real?” Could it be true? Had she really avoided being yoked to Theoric again?

“Not real at all. But it was supposed to be what you truly desired.” She tilts her head and looks at Sigyn, her eyes searching. "But now I have come to realize that you never cared for the poor sod at all. You were simply trying to recreate the circumstances that led to your marrying Loki in the first place."

Sigyn burns with shame and tries, again, unsuccessfully, to hide her face. "That is none of your business."

Amora laughs in delight. "You are so  _crafty_ ! You know, this whole marriage to Loki is making so much more sense. Yes, somebody good but boring like Theoric would never ever do." She waves her hand and the cursed apparition shifts, changes into the image of another man. Shorter, more sullen, and much more hirsute. "What about Logan?"

Sigyn shivers in the chill. The exhaustion of the last few months makes her bones ache  "I will not play this game."

"And now I see how the whole marriage to Loki thing fell apart. Stop being such a spoilsport." Amora frowns thoughtfully. "You know, Logan might not work. That Jean woman is back again, more or less, and he will be entirely too wrapped up in feeling sorry for himself to appreciate you. And we are trying to find you a better situation, are we not?" She waves her hand and the image shifts to reveal a taller man with slicked-back black hair and an imperious, sneering sort of expression. "I think we may have a winner, what do you think?"

"I do not know who that is." Sigyn closes her eyes and presses her cheek to the stone, feeling as if her soul is being crushed beneath the cursed mountain. 

"Oh, stop that. This should be fun! Let me tell you about him. He is tall and lean and does the whole clean-shaven thing, I know you like that. He is  already a king, so none of that anxious grasping nonsense that you are so used to. You would get to be a queen. And he might even be faithful to you!" Amora smiled brightly. "What do you think of Namor? He is really just like Loki but damper and more emotionally stable."

Sigyn wonders if this is what going mad feels like. "You seem to place a great deal of stock in my ability to attract a mate."

Amora slaps her cheek lightly. "Stop feeling sorry for yourself. You managed to manipulate a prince into marrying you. Why not try for a king? Anyway. Namor. Of course he will be interested. The fact that you are a goddess will feed his ego. And you do not have red hair, which seems to be his only objection when seeking the company of women."

Sigyn glares at Amora and musters what’s left of her strength to conjure a quick glamour, turning her hair flaming red. Amora rolls her eyes. "Honestly."

"I want to go." Sigyn tugs at the bonds. "I do not care what the point of this is anymore. I want to go. I want to be left  _alone_ . By all of you. You, Theoric, the Allmothers, Loki," her voice hitches but she swallows and continues on. "Thor, this Namor person. You can all pile into a merry chariot to Hel for all I care. I want  _out_ ."

Amora brushes Sigyn's hair back from her face and frowns in faux sympathy. "I know, darling. But you see, you are still hung up on your heel of an ex-husband and we need to fix that before you can go anywhere."

The lie curdles her stomach. "He is not my ex-husband."

Amora gives her a long, level look. "Fandral was  right about something?"

Sigyn closes her eyes tightly, the tears slipping past her lashes to fall hot on her face. "I love him still," she whispers.

Amora sighs. "Sigyn, let me explain something. Do you recognize this woman?" 

Sigyn opens her eyes and sees the specter of her former self, the one that has haunted her ever since Ragnarok. She nods, the tears falling faster. Her lips press tight together to fight the sobs.

"All those things she said to you, they were not my doing. I just sparked her from that well of resentment you have been harboring. Everything she said, every single word that crossed her lips, they were inspired by you. All words that you had thought time and again but had never once gave voice to or even admitted to yourself. And now you have, and there is no going back. Only forward, to your watery kingdom!" Amora smiles brightly and waves her hand.

Sigyn cannot fight the sob that tears at her throat. "I do not want to be a queen of anything. I just want to go home."

Amora snorts derisively. "What, that mockery of Asgard that Thor created in Oklahoma? Please. We do not have a home anymore, darling. Better to do the best with what you have and really, Namor is a step up in every conceivable respect." She giggles knowingly, and if Sigyn weren't cuffed to the floor she would have punched her in the eye. "Now hold still." Amora stands and raises her hands over Sigyn's body, a glowing red light swirling over her. 

Sigyn struggles harder. She knows it is useless, but she cannot stop herself. "What are you doing?"

"I am simply displacing those feelings you have slathered on Loki on a more suitable target. You will be sick with love for the King of Atlantis, and he will come around, do not worry. You will both be so deliriously happy that you will not even think of your former husband. Which will make him very bitter and more than a little unstable." Amora grins and winks. "And very, very manageable. And everybody will be happy, except Loki. Who never really is, and does not deserve to be, anyway."

"Please," Sigyn begs, shaking as she gives up the last shreds of her dignity. "Do not do this. Just let me be. I do not want to be with him. I do not want to be with anybody. I just want to be alone."

"Hm. No. Not good enough, sorry. As soon as you are left to your own devices he will start scratching at your door again. I need somebody possessive and powerful in the way to chase him off." Amora lowers her hands, and the light descends upon Sigyn. 

Sigyn squirms as there is a soft quivering in her belly, like the first sparks of infatuation. "No!" She shrieks, shaking and retching. 

"This will go much easier if you stop fighting it, good Sigyn." Amora scolds her. 

There is a hollow booming sound from deeper in the cavern and Amora curses under her breath, letting the spell dissipate. "Stay here. I will investigate." She laughs like it is a joke that Sigyn is cuffed to the ground and can't go anywhere.

The dragonfly returns, much closer this time, and hovers just in front of her nose. Sigyn squints at it, focusing on the creature in the dim light. It does not have the face and  body of an insect, but of a woman. "The Wasp," Sigyn whispers, her eyes wide. "But how--"

"Don't worry about that, dear." Jan waves her arms and zooms over to speak directly into her ear. "Help is on the way. I'm going to get these cuffs off, but don't get up just yet. It'll be better if we wait until the right time to spring that on Amora."

Sigyn nods just once, her eyes darting back to the corridor where the booms are getting louder. Jan zooms to her left wrist and zaps the cuff with a tiny missile, popping it open, before moving to the next.

There is another explosion, this one much closer, and she can hear the sound of familiar voices echoing. Red and green lights flash and flare, and there is the sound of swords hitting stone. 

Amora runs back into the cavern and skids to a stop, standing over Sigyn. A rock wall bursts in behind her, rubble and smoke flying.

"Release my friend!" Wanda commands, soaring through the hole in the wall, flanked by Valkyrie and Sif on foot. 

"Like Hel. I am helping her." Amora cast a magical barrier around them. 

Sigyn makes a show of pretending to struggle with her bonds. "You are a liar!"

"You like liars, darling," Amora laughs, her hands flaring with magic.

"It is rude to steal the bride from her own wedding feast," Valkyrie informs Amora, lips quirking as she draws her blade.

"No matter how much of an arse the groom is," Sif grumbles as she does the same.

"Look at all of you, calling yourselves her friends. You do not care about what is best for her, what would make her happy." Amora casts bolts of magic from behind the barrier.

Wanda's magic flares and pushes against Amora's as Sif and Valkyrie advance in a flanking maneuver. "We trust her to make her own decisions."

Valkyrie spares an apologetic glance at Sigyn. "Which seemed odd lately. Sorry, should have realized something was up."

Sif doesn't bother to hide her disgust, her lip curling. "Magic. Ruins everything."

Sigyn takes a deep breath, steadying herself and drawing on her own, relatively meager powers. She could never hope to take on Amora by herself, but with the aid of the others, and if she timed it just right...

Wanda's eyes glow white as she fires a hex at Amora, who deflects it easily. "Now!" Valkyrie cries, and she and Sif both leap to strike.

Amora laughs as the barrier flares and sends all three flying. 

"Go!" Janet hisses in Sigyn's ear before zooming away. 

Sigyn leaps to her feet and fires her own bolt of mystical energy at Amora's back, hitting her directly between the shoulder blades. Amora shrieks and thuds into her own magical barrier before crumpling to the floor. 

Sif pounds her fist on the barrier, trying to break it. But before she can, the Enchantress teleports away. "I hate magic!" She shouts and hurls her shield at the cavern wall.

Sigyn sinks to her knees, shaking. "Thank you."  She says weakly.

Janet wraps her arms around Sigyn's shoulders and dabs at the tears on her face. "Are you hurt?"

Sigyn shakes her head

Wanda lowers to the ground, her eyes returning to their familiar friendly blue as she dissipates the barrier. "You poor dear! Are you alright?"

"Sigga," Valkyrie retrieves Sif's shield and hands it to her before also going to Sigyn, Sif not far behind. "Accept our apologies, my friend."

Sigyn shakes her head. "It is alright. I did not realize myself what her purpose was." 

Wanda smooths her hair back from her forehead and tries to smile. Valkyrie slides an arm around her waist and helps her to her feet. 

"We should leave. And quickly," Sif declares, her eyes darting from side to side at every odd echoing sound. "This place is full of secrets."

Sigyn laughs, weary. Her own secrets still echo in the stones of the mountain. She shares a glance with Sif, who knows what transpired the last time she was in the caverns beneath Wundagore. "How did you know to look for me here?"

Her friends' smiles fade and they all look at each other. Sigyn's heart flutters in spite of herself. Sif rolls her eyes and raises her voice. "You can come out now."

Sigyn presses against Valkyrie, drawing strength from her as she watches a silhouette emerge from the shadows.

Loki clears his throat and flashes her a half-smile. "Lucky guess."

Sigyn stumbles to her feet and runs to him, covering her face with her hands as she goes. Unable to resist but also unwilling to let him see her in such a state. "I am so sorry. Why did you not come? Do not look at me, I am frightful."

He wraps her in his arms and cradles her close, his lips pressing to her forehead. "You don't have to apologize to me. I tried, Sif and Valkyrie kept me out. I don't care what you look like." 

"You told us to keep him out," Sif reminds her, rather forcefully.

Sigyn cannot help but laugh. "I did. Thank you for listening to me."

"Yes, and I am sure the ribs will knit and the bruises will fade. In time." Loki quips. He smooths a shaking hand over her hair. "Oh my love," he whispers, his lips brushing her forehead. And then pauses. "We need to talk."

Sigyn sighs. "Not now. Please. Let us just go home, first."

"Yes, leave." Sif slides her blade back into the scabbard with an audible hiss. "Like I said."

"Yes, yes of course," Loki says quickly, his arms tightening around Sigyn as he speaks the words to transport them all back to New York.


	15. Like Nothing Else We Used to Know

Sigyn sits on the dune next to Loki, her fingers entwined with his, though not touching otherwise. She runs her thumb over his palm. "So I am a widow twice over?"

Loki shakes his head. "Just the once. Magical constructs, like Theoric, don’t count. They are illusions.” He looks at her. “And take a great deal of reserves to maintain so completely.”

Sigyn smiles wryly. “Which explains all the exhaustion.”

He nods. “You fought a lonely battle.”

“If I were less stubborn, perhaps my friends could have been able to help me before it came to all of that.” She sighs and turns her gaze to the sunrise, sipping tea from her thermos. Spearmint, the taste sharp and cool and sweet. She shivers a little in the morning chill. "My first husband,” she says quietly. “He most certainly died."

Loki is quiet for a time and then nods. "I'm just a copy." He shrugs out of his coat and tucks it around her shoulders, taking care to fluff her hair over the fur collar.

She glances at him sidelong, pulling the lapels of his coat tighter to her and inhaling softly, breathing in his scent as subtly as she possibly can. Ice and magic. The same as ever. "But you call me your love."

He looks down, avoiding her eye. "I remember everything. I... feel the same way. I wasn't lying about that. In fact," he meets her eye and smiles wryly. "I am identical. So you could say the difference is really academic."

She regards him for a time. Her eyes travel over the planes of his face that she knows so well. "No. You are different."

He raises an eyebrow, and a glimmer of his customary impishness returns to his eyes. "Different is good.”

She feels the faint heat of a blush on her cheeks in spite of herself. "Yes. Different is good."

He leans a little closer and touches her cheek with long, cool fingers. "In what way?"

She leans her face into his touch. "He would not have told me."

He opens his mouth and takes a breath, but then reconsiders and shakes his head. "You have the right of it." He smiles ruefully. "Wundagore was an ironic location for that particular confrontation."

She offers him her tea and he accepts. "How do you mean?"

"There was a decision made there. The last time. With... all that nonsense with the Blake construct and Thor and..." he sighs and hands her the thermos. "I'm sure you remember it all."

She nods, silent, and watches the sunrise. The watery pale sun turns the sky a pearlescent pale blue, and cuts a shining, shimmering streak through the water.

"The thought of losing you because of decisions I... or _he_ had made. The thought of somebody hurting _you_ because of Loki. It was unbearable. So. A decision." He leans back on his hands and stretches his legs out in front of him. She tries not to be distracted. "And that decision was to create a distance between you, so that none would think to harm you."

Sigyn holds the thermos in both hands, her fingers tight on the smooth surface as she looks straight at the sunrise, not really seeing anything. "That explains much."

"It was a mistake." He says quickly, sitting back up and reaching to touch her, but holding back. "It was a mistake," he repeats, softer.

She nods. "We made many mistakes."

"Not you," he insists.

"With all due respect, your highness. But that forgiveness is not yours to give, even if I deserved it." She sips her tea. It has gone lukewarm. She could warm it, if she so chose. She does not.

He is quiet for a time. The seagulls caw overhead, and the far-off sound of ship horns can be heard from the harbor. "Where do we go from here?"

She shrugs. "I am unsure there is a future for us. My love is tied to a person who died. You love memories made by somebody else."

"But perhaps, in time." He tucks a lock of hair behind her ear, his touch soft and lingering. "We could learn to love each other as we are."

She smiles a little and glances at him. "Perhaps. In time."

He nods. "I would like a chance to do everything properly." His lips curve slightly. "Court you. Propose to you. Marry you."

She wrinkles her nose.

He narrows his eyes. “The prospect displeases you.”

She nods “Of course it does. You are far too interesting to do anything properly.”

He grins sharply. “You led a merry chase last time.”

She lifts her chin and pouts haughtily. "I would have been discarded out-of-hand like the other lovers if I did not. If I was to be had, I was to make it _memorable_."

He laughs, his voice lowering as he shakes his head. "You were never to be discarded. The plan was always to marry you. There was no other option."

She pauses and considers this, the laughter dying on her lips. "Oh."

Her phone chimes, a welcomed text message breaking the silence, which has turned awkward and sad.

_[THEM (Jan): So we're all good for Thai for lunch?]_

_[THEM (Sif): YES. THE SAUCE THEY PUT ON THE NOODLES IS FULL OF SPICES AND MOST PLEASING]_

_[THEM (Sif): ALSO THEY WILL SERVE ENTIRE FISH. I REQUIRE SEVERAL]_

_[THEM (Wanda): I've heard good things about Ngam. Which is near the mansion. I can't go too far, working on something time sensitive.]_

_[The food of the Thai at Ngam would be acceptable. At one o'clock?]_

_[THEM (Valkyrie): THIRTY MINUTES PAST TWELVE. I HUNGER.]_

"My apologies." She slips her phone back into her pocket. "I must go. There is much I must tend to this morning and..." she smiles a bit wider in spite of herself. "I am meeting my friends for lunch."

Loki smiles at her, his eyes soft, and hiding something deeper. Something she cannot touch. "I am glad to hear you are not alone."

She rises and brushes sand from her skirts. He stands as well, aiding her. His hands grazing her thighs and backside. She tuts at him and shoves a little, then slips an arm out of his coat, preparing to give it back to him.

"No." He smooths the coat on her shoulders. "You keep it. I can get another."

She laughs a little. "Loki, it is far too long for me, it practically drags on the ground."

He straightens the lapels. "Green suits you."

She tries to look away, but finds herself moving closer. "Perhaps we should do this again."

He fluffs the fur on the collar. "I am afraid that I must leave today. There is something I need to do." He smiles crookedly. "More of that saving the world stuff like before. Very dashing. And heroic. I assure you, you would be thoroughly impressed."

"Will you tell me all about it when you get back?" She looks up at him through her lashes.

He grins and tugs her closer, bending to kiss her softly. His lips are cold, and the steam from their breath mingles together. "I can think of nothing better."

She steps back, even though she does not want to, and gathers the coat closer. "Goodbye, Loki."

He stays where he is and watches her, and lifts his hand to wave. "Goodbye, Sigyn."

She wraps the coat tighter around her, and maybe even takes care to swing her hips a little more than usual as she walks. Though she would never admit it. And smiles at nothing, and everything, as she faces the coming day.


	16. After All the Hangers-On Have Done Hanging On

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I know I said this was in fifteen parts but then what the heck, it's Christmas! And this image wouldn't leave my brain. I hope you all enjoy it. Consider it the post-credits stinger

“Oh thank goodness you made it.” Jan hustles over and helps Sigyn with her coat. “You look great!”

Sigyn smooths her hands over her finely-wrought gown. It is much more ornate than she is accustomed to, a low-cut green velvet affair with extensive beading in a holly pattern, and red accents. “Yes, the Allmothers helped me select something suitable. I was told that green would suffice. Your gown is lovely, as well, friend Jan.”

 **** “That’s a really nice way to describe a cocktail dress.”Jan’s laughter is light, like bells, and she preens. Her gown is short and gold and very, very flattering to her shape. “Anyway. We were really hoping that Asgard would have some kind of representative. And Loki is… busy.”

Sigyn’s lips twitch. “As is Thor and Valkyrie. Each in their own way.”

“Yes.” Jan takes her by the elbow and leads her into the cheerily-decorated hall. Boughs of evergreen and shiny glass balls of a rainbow of colors festoon the eaves, and Sigyn can smell spices and fried meats along with the towers of tiny cakes and cookies. A brass quartet plays cheerful tunes while the revelers mingle. Christmas. Sigyn doesn’t really understand why the mortals insist on having their Solstice celebration four days after the longest night, but then again she has always been a traditionalist like that.

Sigyn accepts a glass of mulled wine and sips it. “Did you invite Sif?”

“Yes.” Jan winces. “She said… No.”

Sigyn raises an eyebrow. “So succinct.”

“Well. She said more than that, of course. But, well, that was the gist.” Jan laughs again. “Have you met the Inhumans?” Jan steers her over to a regal woman with a truly glorious mass of red hair, a smaller blonde woman, and a dark haired man with an imperious air who observes the other guests as if he is counting the ways in which each and every one of them has offended him. Recently. “Medusa, Crystal, Namor, this is Lady Sigyn of Asgard.”

“An honor to meet you,” Medusa inclines her head slightly, and manages to straddle the line between politely disinterested and vaguely curious. Sigyn is impressed.

“You as well.” Sigyn inclines her head. “The Allmothers admire the resolve and resourcefulness your people have demonstrated in this crisis and offer whatever aid they can.”

Medusa smiles, not impolitely, and Crystal shoots a glare at Namor. “Perhaps we can open discussions in a more formal setting to determine exactly what form that aid will take.”

Sigyn nods. And glances sidelong at Namor. He meets her eye, one eyebrow arched slightly as his lips curve in amusement. She feels her face grow hot and hopes she is not blushing. “Yes, of course, your highness. One should not enter such discussions at a celebration.”

“Of course not.” Crystal smiles kindly and touches Medusa’s arm. “Sister, if I am not mistake, Doctor Banner is attempting to get your attention.”

Medusa glances over Sigyn’s head and Sigyn begins to feel a flutter of panic at being left alone with the man that Amora had talked about so much. But then Medusa nods and she and Crystal excuse themselves and Sigyn is indeed left alone with the King of Atlantis.

“You are alone.” Namor states bluntly. “Your husband declined to attend?”

 **** Sigyn nearly chokes on her wine. “I am… unmarried, your highness.”

He tilts his head, and Sigyn can’t help but notice how his exquisitely-tailored attire hugs his very well-toned form. “Interesting. I seem to recall that somebody from your realm was wed recently. It was a rather large affair.”

“Yes, well.” Sigyn smiles a little. “It was a large affair and the end result was rather complicated. Then there were further complications with my first husband. And it is a very long story, as it always is, but to sum it up the answer to your question is no, I have no husband to decline attendance here or anywhere.” She takes a long drink of her wine, to stop herself from babbling further. And nearly bursts into hysterical laughter when she realizes that Amora was right, this man is her type. Of course her current feelings of infatuation are entirely due to Amora’s spell, and had nothing at all to do with Sigyn’s actual feelings.

“You will tell me,” Namor commands her. “For I enjoy long stories told by beautiful women.”

Sigyn smiles at him and grips her glass a little tighter. She should be annoyed about this, but she isn’t. She finds his behavior oddly charming. Because of Amora’s damned spell, of course. “I shall attempt to be succinct.” A story can’t hurt anything. She can control herself enough to not give in to magically-induced infatuations.

Even if there was something intriguing about his broad shoulders.

“Well.” She smiles a bit more and glances about for a waiter, hoping to get another glass of wine. “As you might be aware, I was widowed not long after that unpleasantness between the mortals and Asgard.” She clears her throat a little.

“Ah, yes.” Namor snaps his fingers at a waiter and the man comes over, eying them sullenly. Sigyn does her level best to not feel impressed. “As I recall, you lost that battle most spectacularly.”

“I was not one of the warriors. I do not really fight.” Sigyn accepts the second glass of wine and tries to resist the urge to hide her face in it.

“Of course not. You are delicate, and refined, and practiced in ways of war much deadlier than those seen on the battlefield.” Namor drops his voice and steps closer, and lifts his hand to brush his fingers over her cheek.

Her eyes flutter at his touch and she is instantly irritated with herself. And blushes. What nonsense. “I am uncertain I would agree.”

She feels the touch of a cold hand on her waist. “I am certain I would agree.” Loki says, grinning. And eying Namor sharply. “Hello, my dear lady. I hope you were not terribly lonesome in my absence.” He kisses Sigyn first on one cheek, then the other. “Namor.” He nods at the other man.

“It is good to see you, your highness. We were not expecting your return so soon.” Sigyn blushes even more. And wishes to disappear. Or evaporate. Or grab one of the cheese knives from a passing waiter and stab both of them before running away. She notices Jan and Wanda across the hall, watching her predicament with undisguised delight. Traitors.

Namor plucks the glass of wine from Loki’s hand and sneers. “You are too young to imbibe, princeling.”

“Merry Christmas to you, too.” Loki rolls his eyes and snags another glass from a passing waiter. “Diplomatic immunity.” He smirks.

Sigyn knocks back the rest of her own drink. “Yes, well. I am certain the two of you have much to discuss and I will not keep you from it.”

Loki tightens his arm around her waist and pulls her slightly closer to him. “You keep us from nothing, my lady.”

“It is not your presence, my lady, that is a burden.” Namor glares meaningfully at Loki. Loki juts his chin at Namor. Sigyn sighs and takes the glass of wine from Namor that he had confiscated from Loki.

And prepares herself for a very long evening.


End file.
